Where The Beauty Ends
by xoleanderx
Summary: The Winchester brothers investigate a small town in Montana where men are mysteriously disappearing. Angsty!Sam and DeanWhumping! abound.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I am in no way affiliated with Supernatural, or anything else for that matter. So please don't sue, I don't have much to give except for six tattered Harry Potter books and a fat rabbit.

**Rating:** T for language and violence

**Summary:** Sam and Dean investigate a town where men are disappearing, and one of the brothers becomes the next target.

**Where The Beauty Ends**

_Chapter One_

"There's been four disappearances, all within the past two months," Sam said, giving a glance towards Dean in the driver's seat. "None of the bodies were ever found." The eldest Winchester gave a nod as the black Impala passed the small sign that read in bold letters "Welcome to Denton. Population: 411".

"Sounds like our type of deal." His eyes flickered towards Sam for a brief instant before returning towards the road. Thick pine trees passed by in a blur as the narrow two-lane street came towards a dead end. Dean turned the steering wheel towards the right, the car turning onto Main Street.

"And the victims were all men?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam responded glancing down at the newspaper article he held in his hand. "All men, aged anywhere between eighteen and fifty. Nothing else though."

"Think it's some sort of freaky girl spirit looking for revenge?"

Sam gave his head a small shake while raising a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I don't know, it could be anything. Could just be coincidence, I guess."

"Nothing's ever just coincidence, Sammy."

Silence settled over the car. Sam glanced out the window and Dean voiced what he had just been thinking. "This place is like a ghost town."

Main Street seemed be the hub the town, though there were only two or three people on the sidewalks at the moment. Smaller roads spiked off towards the left and right and small buildings lined the sides of the road, their names screaming simplicity. Sam's stomach rumbled as he eyed Harry's Diner, the sign out front proclaiming that it had the best pie in Montana.

"What's this lady's address, again?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam.

"2235 Bower Street," Sam said. He raised a finger, pointing towards the next intersection. "Right up there." Dean turned the wheel sharply to the left, almost missing the turn.

"Her name's Wendy Levings," Sam continued, unfazed by the jerk of the car, and Dean pulled to a stop outside a dumpy, almost lopsided house. As Dean pulled the keys out of the ignition, Sam opened the glove compartment, pulling out two fake police badges and handing one to Dean.

"Age thirty eight," Sam continued as the two got out of the car and made their way towards the front door. "Never had any kids, her husband Mark was the first to disappear."

"Right."

Stopping on the porch, Dean gave three hard knocks on the door. For a long time nothing happened. Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"I guess she's not home," Dean shrugged.

"Her car's in the driveway," Sam countered.

Dean opened his mouth to respond when the door suddenly swung open. A very short, squat woman stood behind the screen door, looking up at them. The top of her head came only came up to Sam's chest and she was a little overweight, her hair a curly and frizzy black bun on the top of her head.

"Yes?" she asked slowly.

"Mrs. Levings?" Dean asked, looking down at her.

Her small black eyes looked back and forth between Sam and Dean. "Yes," she said again.

"I'm Inspector Black," Dean continued shortly as he flipped open his badge. Sam followed suit. "This is my partner, Inspector White. We're investigating the disappearances and would like you ask you a few questions."

Wendy crossed her arms, visibly hardening. "Look, I already talked to the police about it last month."

"It would only take a few minutes of your time," Sam interjected. "Please."

She sighed and waited a moment before answering. "Alright, come on in." Reaching up a pudgy hand, she pulled the door open, stepping back to allow Sam and Dean to walk in - both having to duck slightly to fit through the small door.

"Can I get you boys anything to drink?" Wendy asked over her shoulder as she led the way down the hall into the living room. It was obvious she was trying to be a good host, but the tone of her voice showed that she clearly did not want them there. "Water? Soda? Lemonade?"

"Lemonade would be great, thanks," Dean said.

"Oh, no thank you," Sam answered as she glanced up at him, annoyed.

"You can just make yourselves at home," Wendy nodded, waving her hand in the direction of the living room. "I'll be there in just a minute."

---

"Did your husband say or do anything unusual during the time before he disappeared?" Dean asked when the three had settled into the small room. Sam and Dean sat on a floral-patterned couch across from Wendy, sitting in a chair of the same decoration. They were separated by a wooden table, on which sat Dean's glass of lemonade next to a stack of old TV guides and newspapers.

"No...well, not really," Wendy answered, giving a small shake of her head. "Mark and I were going though a rough time in our marriage... he was more irritable than usual, but he blamed work."

"What did he do?" Sam asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Construction," Wendy answered, brushing a loose curl of hair out of her face. "He was the manager of a branch of a small company on the other side of town. They had just started a new project, a restaurant, but he had to lay off three people in one week... budget cuts... had him pretty worked up."

"Was there anything else? Anything that didn't seem normal?" Dean pressed.

"Not normal?" repeated Wendy, tilting her head slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"Just anything to help us figure out what happened. Why he disappeared," Dean covered quickly, clasping his hands together.

"Well, no, I'm sorry," Wendy shook her head again. "There wasn't anything."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other for a brief instant before standing up together. "Well, thank you for your time," Sam nodded, smiling the small woman.

Wendy nodded, "Of course." She stood up as well, leading the way back towards the door.

---

"What do you think?" Dean asked as he steered the car out of the neighborhood.

"I think she's telling the truth," Sam said confidently. "She doesn't know anything."

"And if she's lying?"

"Why would she lie?" Sam turned to look at Dean, who shrugged.

Dean turned the car back into Main Street and Sam once again glanced at Harry's Diner. Dean caught him eyeing it hungrily, and, smirking to himself, parked the car outside the building.

"Let's get some pie."

--- 

**Reviews would be appreciated, if you please.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I am in no way affiliated with Supernatural, or anything else for that matter. So please don't sue, I don't have much to give except for six tattered Harry Potter books and a fat rabbit.

**Rating:** T for language and violence

**Summary:** Sam and Dean investigate a town where men are disappearing, and one of the brothers becomes the next target.

**Where The Beauty Ends**

_Chapter Two_

"What can I get y'all?"

The bubbly waitress' strawberry blond hair was pulled into a loose bun, tucked under her red and white paper hat, which matched the "Harry's Diner" outfit that she wore. Her name tag red "Alison". Dean let a charming smile slide into his face. "Well, hi there."

Allison cocked her head to the side slightly, giving a little giggle. "Hi."

Dean stared and she flickered her eyes back and forth between the brothers. Sam tried to restrain from snickering as he leaned back against the booth. "I'll have a slice of the blueberry pie," he grinned.

Allison scribbled it town on her notepad before glancing at Dean. "I'll have the same," the eldest Winchester said, though he most likely didn't even hear what Sam ordered.

"Alright boys, I'll be back in a minute," Allison nodded, giving an embarrassed giggle as she glanced at Dean once more and walked away. Dean leaned out of the booth slightly, tilting his head as he watched her back retreat into the kitchen. He gave a low whistle as he straightened up. Sam stared and Dean let the smile slide off his face. "What?"

Sam sighed, giving his head a small shake. "Never mind."

"Ten bucks I can get her phone number," Dean continued cockily, resting his arm on the table.

Sam ignored him. "So we didn't get anything useful from Wendy," he commented.

"If she's telling the truth," Dean interrupted.

"If she's telling the truth," Sam repeated with a slight eye roll, not wanting to argue. "But even so, we should move on to the next victim."

"Which is who?"

"Here ya' go boys." Allison had reappeared, carrying a plate in each hand, and setting them down on the table. "Good choice, we have the best pie in Montana y'know."

"Thanks," Dean said smoothly. "I'm Dean, by the way."

Sam snorted and Allison glanced at him with an amused grin before looking back at Dean. "Nice to meet ya' Dean," Allison responded. "Where're you boys from?" When Dean didn't answer, she looked to Sam.

"All around really," he said with a smile.

"We travel," grinned Dean. "Are you from here?"

"Yep, born and raised right here in Denton," Allison answered proudly.

"Allison." A balding man wearing black pants, a white shirt and a matching but dirty white apron poked his head out of the kitchen. Allison glanced over her shoulder and gave him a nod before turning back to Sam and Dean. "Nice to meet you boys, Dean and..." she glanced at Sam.

"Sam," he answered.

"Sam," Allison repeated with a kind smile. "I'll see you boys later."

Dean once again watched her retreating back as she walked away. Sam raised his eyebrows, "Dean."

"What?"

Sam just sighed, digging his fork into the large, sticky-looking piece of pie in front of him. Oh wow. They weren't lying. This had to be the best freaking pie in the country.

"So what about the next victim?" Dean asked as he also started his pie.

"... uhh...," Sam said through a large mouthful of dessert. He pulled a piece of crumpled paper out of his pocket. "Uh Ahore, ee wah uh ecod oo iaeer a wee afuh ark eing." With a mouthful of pie, one can only talk in vowels.

Dean stared. "What?"

Sam chewed, and swallowed, then tried again. "Paul Hoffert, he was the second to disappear after Mark Levings."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Sammy," Dean chided with a smirk.

"Shuddup."

Dean snickered and Sam glared before continuing, reading scribbled notes off the piece of paper. "He's twenty-four, and vanished the night before his wedding."

"How do you know he didn't just get cold feet?" Dean questioned.

"Because he disappeared during his bachelor party," Sam said. "He was at the bar hanging out with a bunch of guys who were all too drunk to realize he never came back from the bathroom. His car was still in the parking lot."

"Mmm," Dean said and Sam looked up. "Mmm?"

Dean glanced at him from across the table. "Good pie."

---

"I - I just have no idea why...," Melinda Arquette stuttered out as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. They had been questioning Paul Hoffert's fiancé for ten minutes now, and all they had received from her was that they were madly in love, they had no problems, the wedding was going to be the happiest day of their lives and she "just had no idea why he disappeared".

"Maybe he just ran off," the Barbie Doll-looking blond choked out. "Because he didn't want to marry me. He - he just..." The rest of her sentence was incomprehensible as she let out a long wail.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam before clearing his throat. "Okay then, Ms. Arquette," he said, standing to his feet. "We'll call you if we need anything else." Sam stood also, the two watching the woman in front of them for some sort of response or reaction, but she simply sat there wailing and blowing her nose loudly into a tissue. "We'll let ourselves out," Dean added, nodding to Sam.

"Thanks for your time," Sam noted briefly as the brothers made their way out the door.

---

"So, she was no help at all," Dean grunted as he started the ignition.

"That makes two," Sam said. "This isn't working Dean."

"Well then what do you suggest we do, Sammy?" Dean snapped. There was a pause. "Besides, I still have a bad feeling about Wendy."

"Why?" Sam pressed as the car turned back onto Main Street. Dean gave his head a small shake, "I don't know. Didn't you, you know, sense anything off about her?"

"...no...," Sam said.

"I just can't shake it," Dean added, shaking his head again. Sam glanced at his brother, a slightly worried expression on his face before Dean spoke again. "Anyway, we should try to find a motel. You think they got one in a town like this?"

"Yeah, we passed one this afternoon at the end of the road," Sam said. "Just keep going straight and you'll find it."

Just as Sam had said, the Impala pulled to a stop in front of a dumpy motel at the end of Main Street. They were the only car in the parking lot, and the old man behind the front desk looked absolutely stunned to see the brothers walk in the door.

"Room 2A," he croaked, handing Dean a key and pointing down the hallway towards their right. "First one on the left."

"Thanks," Dean said briefly, picking up his bag and leading the way down the hall. As they reached the room and Dean opened the door, he wrinkled his nose slightly. "What a dump."

He was right. The two twin beds each only had thin, dirty sheets and a thin, just as dirty blanket. The puke-yellow paint on the walls was peeling, there were stains on the carpet and the television in the corner had only one broken antenna sprouting out of it.

"At least they have a jack to plug the laptop in to," Sam offered, spotting the small plug on the wall as he shut the door behind him.

"Yeah, well, the sooner we get -," Dean started, before being interrupted by a loud thud on their door. The brothers locked eyes for a moment before Sam pulled a gun out of his bag and made his way over towards the door. Concealing the gun behind his back, he placed his hand on the handle and yanked it open.

The hallway was empty. "What is it?" Dean asked, coming over to stand next to Sam.

"Nothing," Sam answered, pulling the door open wider to peek down the hallway. It was then that his eye caught the knife embedded in the wooden door. Wrapping a hand around the handle, he yanked it out, shutting the door and turning around to show the weapon to Dean.

"It's a warning," Sam said. "Whatever's doing this knows we're here."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I am in no way affiliated with Supernatural, or anything else for that matter. So please don't sue, I don't have much to give except for six tattered Harry Potter books and a fat rabbit.

**Rating:** T for language and violence

**Summary:** Sam and Dean investigate a town where men are disappearing, and one of the brothers becomes the next target.

**Where The Beauty Ends**

_Chapter Three_

Neither Winchester slept well that night. Dean tossed and turned in the small, uncomfortable bed, his hand sporadically reaching out from under the covers to feel the gun resting on the nightstand before he'd murmur something and roll over.

His sleep plagued by nightmares, Sam woke up every hour or so, glanced at Dean and then tried to find a more comfortable position and returned to another unsettling sleep.

The next morning was a slow start. The brothers each sported a pair of dark circles under their puffy eyes from the lack of sleep, but somehow managed to pull themselves out of bed. They spent the majority of the morning questioning the two remaining witnesses: Marla O'Shaunessey, mother of the eighteen year old Brendan O'Shaunessey, third on the list of disappearances, and Susan Leeman, wife of fifty year old Robert Leeman, the most recent victim.

Marla O'Shaunessey proved to be as useful as questioning a fire hydrant, for the way she put it, she seemed to have wonderful relationship with her son and had no idea why he had disappeared. At least, that's what Sam and Dean assumed she had said, for the distraught mother's answers were all gasped out between blubbers and sobs into a handkerchief. Susan Leeman was a bitter old woman of sixty-two, with a twelve year age gap between herself and Robert Leeman. The "oh woe is me, my husband is missing" act she put on for Sam and Dean didn't fool them for a second; in fact, she seemed almost relieved to have the man off her back. However, neither of the brothers had any reason to list her as a suspect, rather just an old toad of a woman who was enjoying her days without an old husband to look after.

It was in the late afternoon that Sam and Dean returned to the sickly motel. Strolling into the room, Dean's eye caught the glint of the knife on the scratched coffee table, where Sam had placed it after yanking it out of the door the previous night. Today though, his eyes picked up something that he hadn't seen in the dim light of the cheap lamp the night before. "Hey Sammy, did you see this?"

Washing his hands in the bathroom, Sam glanced into the mirror, his eyes looking past his gangly reflection, through the open door to where Dean stood, holding the knife up to his face to examine something on the handle. "What?"

"There's an engraving on the hilt of this knife," Dean said, running his slightly calloused finger over the wood. Sam dried his hands, walking into the main room to stand next to Dean. He peered over his shoulder, eyeing the small symbol carved into the handle. Three circles, one larger and two smaller; the smaller two overlapped the first on either side, looking almost like a sort of Venn Diagram; carved into the largest center circle was an eye.

"Ever seen anything like it before?" Dean asked, letting Sam take the knife from him to examine it closer.

"No," Same answered, tilting it towards the window for better light. "It looks like the symbol for some sort of cult."

Dean was already scribbling a drawing of the engraving onto a sheet of paper. "You check the laptop, I'll see if the library down the street has anything on it."

"I doubt you'll find anything," Sam said, setting the knife down as Dean pulled his jacket on. "The library's the smallest, saddest excuse for a library I've ever seen."

"Worth a shot," Dean said with a half-shrug. "Call me if you find anything."

"Yeah, okay, ditto," Sam said distantly as he pulled the laptop out of his bag and Dean slipped out the door.

---

Hours passed, and Sam's eyes were starting to burn from the light reflecting off the laptop's monitor. He had searched every symbol site he knew of and had Googled anything from "cult symbols" to "disappearing men", but had come up with nothing.

Sighing, the young Winchester leaned back in his chair, at the same time picking up the knife from the table next to him. Sam turned the blade over in his hands, tracing the engraving on the hilt with his index finger. There had to be something they were missing.

---

Dean sighed, flipping the heavy book cover shut. This had been the fourth and last book he had looked through and had found no results. The engraving on the knife hadn't shown up in any book, and though Dean had questioned the brown-haired, large-eyed librarian chewing bubble gum behind the front desk, the young woman had replied that they didn't have anything else on the subject.

Gathering up the materials, Dean was about to call it quits when a certain title on the open table of contents page in front of him caught his eye. Sirens. Furrowing his eyebrows, Dean flipped open to the page, not knowing why save for a gut feeling.

"_According to Greek mythology_," read the small-type text, "_Sirens, or Seirenes, were sea nymphs or Naiads who lived on the island of Sirenum Scopuli, surrounded by large cliffs and rocks. Approaching sailors were drawn to them by their enchanting singing, causing them to sail on the cliffs and drown._

_In early art, the Sirens were represented as birds with the heads, and sometimes the chests, of women. Later, they were represented as female figures with the legs of birds, with or without wings._

_Yet, in other forms of mythology, legend and folklore, Sirens were known as demons in the skin of beautiful women, enticing men with their song. Once lured in, the Sirens would keep the men as their slaves until dissatisfied with them, upon which they would kill them._"

By the time he had gotten to the last sentence, Dean was already pulling out his cell phone to call Sam. "Sirens," he muttered to himself with a shake of his head. Scrolling down his phone's contact list, Dean had reached Sam's name when a voice called out behind him.

"Dean!"

Dean whipped around, a smile sliding onto his face and Sam forgotten as he spotted Allison, the cute waitress from Harry's Diner.

"Hey Allison," he greeted charmingly. "What are you doing here?"

"Not much," the blond replied with a small shrug and a grin, her Montana twang prominent as she spoke. "I just came to return a book and decided to browse. How 'bout you?"

"Just doing a little research," Dean shrugged as he casually reached behind him to shut the open book.

"Findin' what you were lookin' for?" Allison questioned.

"Nah, not really," Dean lied nonchalantly with a half-shrug.

"Aw," said Allison coolly, taking a few steps towards Dean. "Well how about a little music to make you feel better?"

Dean tilted his head slightly. "Wha...?"

He was cut off however, as Allison began to hum, her soft voice echoing in Dean's ears. Almost immediately, he started to feel numb, and light, as if he were simply floating, and his eyes started to glaze over slightly. Any remaining thought of Sam, the missing men, or Sirens vanished from his thoughts, as his mind started to feel thick and foggy. Without thinking, without feeling, Dean felt his body drawn towards the small woman slinking towards him; he reached out to pull her closer, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss.

---

Sam was jerked awake two hours later by the sounds of sirens and flashes of blue and red light filtering in through the window. He yawned, glancing at his watch, 5:28. He'd been asleep for two hours, Sam mused to himself as he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face to try to clear his mind from the muddled just-waking-up fog.

The laptop was still open to the official site for the area's main newspaper. Sam had been reading and re-reading the articles on the disappearing men in hopes of finding some sort of clues that they might have missed, but to no avail.

It was then that Sam finally noticed the flashing lights bouncing off his face as another police car drove past the motel. Standing up, he made his way over towards the window, peering out. The cop car was continuing down the street – in the direction of the library. Dean. His brother still wasn't back, and Sam grabbed his cell phone off the table to see with a sinking feeling that there had been no missed calls.

Closing the laptop, Sam pulled on his jacket and slipped into his pair of tennis shoes by the door. Something wasn't right, Dean had been gone far too long. Rushing out of the motel, he jogged down the street in the direction of the library, where he saw two police cars, an ambulance, and a small crowd of people gathered. Slowing down by the group of people, Sam gently pushed his way towards the front in time to see two paramedics loading a body bag into the back of the ambulance.

Sam felt his breath hitch in his throat. "Hey, what happened?" he asked the middle-aged woman standing next to him, trying to keep his voice steady.

"They won't tell us anything," the woman replied shortly. "Apparently the librarian was killed."

Sam breathed a small sigh of relief, at least Dean wasn't dead. Making his way away from the crowd, Sam pulled out his cell phone, pressing speed dial two for Dean's number. "C'mon, Dean, pick up, pick up," he muttered quietly to himself as the other side rang. There was a small click before it went to his voicemail. Snapping his phone shut, Sam leaned back against the brick wall of the library. Dean was gone.

---

**Thanks so much for the reviews I've received so far, they really do keep me going.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer/Summary/Rating/etc – see first few chapters.**

**Where the Beauty Ends**

_Chapter Four_

Eight hours. It had been eight hours since Sam had realized Dean was gone, and the glowing red numbers on the digital clock seemed to mock him with each minute that passed. 12:31 AM... _he's gone, taken from just down the block, and you didn't even know_... 12:32 AM... _he could be hurt, badly_... 12:33 AM..._ he could be sitting in a pool of his own blood right now, and you wouldn't even know it_... 12:34 AM _he could be dead_ -

Sam dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to rub away the drowsiness that had suddenly started to creep up on him. There had to be something to help him - a clue... anything. He'd called Dean's phone seventeen times since the first time when he saw the ambulance at the library, the little flame of hope flickering out each time as soon as the voicemail clicked on. _This is Dean Winchester. I can't be reached right now, but leave me a message and I'll get back to you. _

"C'mon Sam," the youngest Winchester muttered to himself as he perched on the end of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. There had to be something he was missing, a similarity between the victims. His stomach dropped at that word - victim. Dean was a victim. Whatever was doing this had taken him, and his brother was a _victim_.

_Get a grip Sammy_, he could hear Dean chiding in his head. If Dean were here, he'd be scolding him for letting his emotions take over. This was just another hunt, another case, another baddie that needed to be taken down. But Dean _wasn't_ here... that was the problem.

Sam glanced at the clock once more. _12:39 AM._

They'd questioned all the witnesses, and had nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. They had absolutely no leads, nothing to go on except for that damned knife that still sat on the scratched fake-wood coffee table. There was nothing anywhere about that stupid symbol carved on the hilt - not in Dad's journal, not on the internet. Nothing. For all Sam knew, it could just be a fake to throw them off the trail.

Sam didn't know he had fallen asleep until he was jerked awake hours later by a dream that he had already forgotten by the time he opened his eyes. Sunlight filtered in through the blinds of the window and that goddamn clock now read _6:53 AM_. It'd been more than twelve hours, and every second that Sam sat there, doing nothing, Dean could be inching closer and closer to death.

Bolting off the bed, Sam realized he was still dressed from the day before, shoes and all. The still open laptop emitted a slight glow from across the room as the screensaver jutted across the screen, and the lamp on the nightstand table was still glowing yellow. Sam rubbed a hand over his face, trying to physically wipe away the just-waking-up muddle. He was itching for a shower, but knew that there was no time. He needed to find Dean_. If he's alive_, his subconscious taunted.

"He _is_ alive," Sam muttered aloud, standing up and making his way to the bathroom to splash a bit of cold water over his face. _He has to be._

Sam made his way towards the library down the street, the last place Dean had been. The Impala was still parked outside, even though Dean could have easily walked the short distance the day before. Wherever his brother was, he still had the keys with him, and Sam knew Dean would personally mutilate him if he even attempted to hotwire his baby. So Sam was forced to go on foot down the sidewalk, slowing his pace as he neared the building. Yellow police tape had been put up, and one cop car was parked outside, but with no officer in sight. Scoffing slightly at how simple it was, Sam stepped over the barriers set up, walking inside.

Sunlight came in through the windows in the front, but it was still slightly dark inside. It looked like a normal run-of-the-mill library, except for the empty silence... and the large puddle of blood by the front counter. Sam tried to ignore the dark stain, keeping his mind focused on finding Dean. He paced up and down every isle, but everything looked normal, in order, like nothing had happened. But as he turned the corner into the next row, Sam froze, his eyes drawn to the ground. Dean's cell phone lay open on the floor.

Rushing forward, Sam picked it up, pressing a button to make the dark screen illuminate itself, and he saw with dismay that it was open to the phonebook, the name _Sam_ highlighted. Dean had been in the process of calling him when he had been taken by... whatever - whoever - was doing this. _18 Missed Calls_ flashed across the screen (all his own, he knew) and Sam flipped the phone shut, shoving it into his pocket. Dean had been going to call him - had he found something? Sam's eyes were drawn to the large book sitting on the table next to him, the cursive writing on the cover reading Creatures of Modern Folklore. Dean must have been desperate to be looking through this - but if he was calling Sam, he must have found something in it. Was the answer to everything in this book?

Sam pulled the book closer, flipping to the table of contents and letting his eyes roam the page. Druids, Fairies, Nymphs, Phoenixes, Sirens, Vampires, Wendigos, there were hundreds of creatures listed, some that Sam had never even heard of, and it could be any of them. Or none of them. Maybe Dean had just been calling to check in with Sam. Maybe he hadn't found anything.

Flopping into a chair by the table, Sam dropped his elbows onto the tabletop, lacing his fingers and leaning his forehead onto his fists in a thinking posture. He went over the facts in his head. Small town, four missing men... five, he reminded himself. Dean had been the fifth. _Five_ missing men, with varying age, backgrounds, none of them were related in any way. The witnesses knew nothing, and as far as they knew, no gruesome murders had taken place in the town, ever, so vengeful spirit could most likely be taken off the list. There had been no records of any paranormal activity, or any sort of disappearances before now, so it couldn't be a curse. None of the men's bodies had actually been found, though, so it was possible that they weren't dead... yet.

A sudden thought struck Sam - what if this wasn't supernatural at all?... what if it was just some crazy, kidnapping _person_?

Keeping that thought in the back of his mind, Sam pulled the large book towards him once more, plucking a small piece of paper and pencil out of the container that all libraries kept for writing down notes or locations of books. His gut feeling was telling him that the answer was somewhere in this book.

Nearly three hours later, Sam had made progress. His eyes stung from reading the small text in such dim light, his hand cramped from clutching the tiny pencil much too tightly, and his shoulders burned from hunching over the book. It was a large, complicated book, organized by the origin of the myth, and Sam had decided to assume that whatever creature was doing this was most likely some sort of woman. It made sense, since all the victims were male. So he started at page one, and simply went though the book, all hundreds of pages, noting on his paper any creature that might be behind this.

Gwyllions, Gorgons, Maski-mon-gwe-zo-os, Sirens, Harpies, P-skig-demo-os, Pak-zin-skwa... he had nearly thirty written down, many of them a part of Native American culture, or in strange languages that he could barely pronounce... or both.

Sam leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his long unruly hair and glancing at his watch. It was a little past ten in the morning, and he wondered idly when he had last eaten. Right on cue, his stomach gave a loud rumble, and he realized the only thing he had consumed in the past twenty four hours had been a small breakfast the morning before of junk food he had bought from the vending machines outside their motel.

_Need to keep going_, his brain screamed at him. _No time to eat_. But Sam had hardly eaten at all in the past days, and he could hear Dean in his head, telling him to take a break. Besides, Sam needed a chance to look over what he had written down. Ten minutes. He would go into Harry's Diner, get a quick cup of coffee, then get back to looking for Dean. _Finding Dean._ A ten minute break wouldn't hurt. And while he was in there, he could question the locals. Maybe there was something he had missed.

Deciding to take a quick stop at the diner, Sam pocketed the piece of paper and quickly snuck back out of the library, though there was still no one on watch. The walk down Main Street to the diner took less than fifteen minutes, and the familiar bell dinged over his head as he entered. A few people sat at the counter, and glanced over their shoulders briefly to look at them, then turned back to their meals. Sam ignored them, seating himself at a booth, feeling uncomfortable at the empty seat across from him that was normally occupied by Dean.

Is this how Dean felt when Sam had been taken by the Benders? This complete and utter feeling of loss? Of hopelessness? _No, of course not_, he reasoned with himself. Dean was Dean - he was always strong, the protector, never vulnerable or afraid. He was invincible.

"Sam, right?" chimed a voice, and Sam snapped up, looking at his waitress, the blond from a couple days ago... Allison. She grinned at the look of recognition in his eyes.

"Yeah," he said after a split second. "How are you?"

"I'm just fine, thank you," Allison chirped cheerfully, then her eyes flickered to the empty booth across from him. "Where's your friend?"

"Dean?" Sam's mind raced to come up with an excuse. "He's still back at the motel, sleeping."

"Not a morning person, huh?" she said with a slight chuckle, and Sam forced a smile, "Can I just get a coffee? Black?" Dean always drank his coffee black.

"Sure thing," she responded. "Be right back with that for ya."

As soon as she walked away, hips slightly swaying back and forth as she moved, Sam leaned back against the seat, letting out an exhale of air. He didn't understand how the men could just vanish, without a trace. It didn't make sense. Allison appeared moments later, coffee pot in hand.

"So, have you heard anything about the disappearances?" Sam asked suddenly as she poured him a cup. Allison's eyes flashed, and she nearly spilled the coffee in surprise as she straightened up. "What do you mean?"

Sam looked up at her, trying to look sincere. "Dean and I, we're reporters... we write stories about crimes happening in rural towns, it's a small paper in Lawrence, Kansas. We saw that there were men disappearing here, in the papers it said." Allison was still just staring at him, so he continued. "We were just wondering if you had heard anything about it."

Allison gave her head a shake, a frown evident on her lips. "Sorry, I don't know anything about it. I heard that a couple men had gone missin', didn't know who or anything. I don't really know too many folks around here, so I don't know too much about what goes on."

"Ah," Sam said, trying to hide the disappointment from his voice. "Well, thanks anyway." The blond gave a nod, walking away.

Sam nudged his cup, feeling the warmth of the liquid through the ceramic mug, not really wanting it anymore. Sighing, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket, leaving a few bills on the table, and left the diner, feeling utterly dejected.

Without warning, a sharp pain suddenly struck his head, right between the eyes. "Ah," Sam blurted softly, wincing and raising a hand to rub at his forehead. The flash of pain came again, his vision blurring slightly and he knew a vision was on its way. Grasping the brick wall for support, Sam stumbled into the alleyway next to the diner before falling to his knees and grabbing at his head as images flashed across his eyes.

_It's outside, but dark - must be night... a figure makes its way down the sidewalk... it's tall, and rounding a corner, Sam can see that it's a man... he looks to be in his mid-thirties, and a wedding band is wrapped around his ring finger, hair dark and graying  
slightly...music suddenly fills the area, wrapping itself around Sam and weaving through his head, clogging his ears and making time move too slowly… it's a soft, slow melody, and the man feels it too, because he suddenly turns around to see the source of the beautiful melody, and it's a woman, blond hair framing her face… Allison… it's Allison, and the man moves towards her quickly, grabbing her and mashing his face against hers in a kiss… deep, passionate…, Allison pushes him away – her hand morphs into a claw, her nails sharp and long as her eyes flash with fire, her perfect, straight teeth becoming sharp, like fangs… _

Sam came to with a gasp, his hands falling away from his head as he blinked in the sunlight. It was Allison, the waitress from the diner of which Sam was leaning against right now. Moments ago he had smiled at her, she had given him coffee, asked where Dean was, while all the while it had been _her_ that had his brother, all the other men. And she was going to take another victim tonight.

Narrowing his eyes, Sam pushed himself into an upright position, ignoring the throb of his head in a post-vision headache. He was going to get Dean back.


End file.
